Seasons
by primadonnajunko
Summary: Jinx was many things, but simple was not one of them.


**It's sure been a while since I've written for these two, wow. I saw a prompt on tumblr talking about writing something about seasons and I couldn't get a line I came up with for this out of my head, so here it is. I hope this fic somewhat redeems me for all the monstrosities I've posted in the past, but I digress. **

Like the spring, she is beautiful, but with that beauty comes storms that crash down all around her and in their wake they leave her nothing but heartbreak and wreck.

But that's okay, because he is always there to help her clean up the mess.

Like the spring, she takes time to blossom. Even knowing this, his patience is tried and tried again waiting for her to open up. Sometimes, she doesn't.

But that's okay, because sometimes, she does.

On these nights, she spills everything she's ever thought and gives him time to mull it over, even though they both know he doesn't need it.

He has decided these nights were his favorites.

Like spring, she is shy, much more than you'd think from a girl with hair as vibrant as the sun and eyes that look like they've seen the beginning and the end of the world. She rarely ever talks to anyone but him when they're in public, and when she does her voice is small like a child's would be.

But that's okay, because when she speaks he feels his heart beat the smallest bit faster – even though he knows that technically that doesn't make any sense, but he'll be damned if science was going to stop him from being romantic. Her voice, _my god_ her voice. It was raspy and could hold the worst amount of bite. It was husky, and when he played his cards right, could say, "I love you" in a way he could have never imagined to be so amazing. It sent shivers up his spine in a very unmanly way he wouldn't be admitting to any time soon.

Like the summer, she is hot, in more ways that one. There is her beauty, which is sometimes hard to find. She is peculiar looking; he knows that. She is not the fundamental definition of pretty.

But that's okay, because really, she isn't pretty.

She is odd and strange, her limbs are too long and her body was covered in scars. She had strange pupils, and gawky _everything_. Her eyebrows are practically invisible, and her front tooth is chipped.

And he thought she was the most beautiful girl in the world because of it.

Now this isn't a sappy, "she's ugly and he's the only one who sees her true beauty" kind of relationship, because frankly, that's pathetic and a slight bit unhealthy. Plenty of other people have noticed – and taken to – her looks. He knows she is not pretty, but _goddammit_ she's beautiful.

Again I repeat, like the summer, she is hot. Her temper will boil and rise and rise until it just spills over. She will scream and thrash and ruin anything and everything that stands in her way. Her face will turn red, and it clashes horribly with her hair. Her fists will clench and her shoulders will hunch.

All in all, she will look like a disgruntled little girl.

But that's okay, because he knows how to calm her down.

She can never, ever be talked down to. When she is angry, it's usually something that someone has done to her, and every time he hears the door slam he hopes to God it wasn't him. But the secret to calming her down is to just let her rant. If she is talking, and yelling, and paying attention to him, she will not thrash around like a child. If she is retelling the story of the 'total asshole' she had to deal with that day, she will not have the time to think about throwing a bolt of supercharged magic at the kitchen table that dared to sit in her general direction. She will not have time to explode.

Like summer, she is sometimes unbearable. She is guarded and temperamental and honestly just doesn't know what to do when faced with other people. She is awkward and says the wrong things and laughs when she shouldn't. She is judgy and crass and sometimes just doesn't understand that she should be filtering herself.

But that's okay, because he can be unbearable too.

He flirts with _everyone_, and she can't stand it. He's a total know-it-all and so goddamn pretentious, sometimes she just wants to punch him. Just punch him right in the face. He's cocky as hell, and she knows he's attractive, but Jesus could he calm down about it?

Like fall, she is colorful. Her face is a blank, stark white canvas covered in pink brush strokes. Her eyes remind him of Pepto-Bismol, which is slightly concerning as he's never liked it. Her hair is wild, and completely her in every way. It too reminds him of that stupid medicine his aunt used to have to force-feed him as a kid. He told her about it once and she didn't talk to him for 3 days. Apparently she never liked it either.

And he doesn't see why her being colorful isn't okay, as these days her hair is reminding him more of bubblegum.

He just _adores _bubblegum.

Like fall, she is spooky, if you'll excuse the childish term. She is essentially a witch, so really it comes to no surprise. She sees things he can't, things that no one but she can see, and it's actually funny to watch her wave to the old lady that apparently lived in their apartment before them. Sometimes he catches mumbling what sounds like nonsense under breath, and at random times she'll blurt out something like "Don't walk on 75th street today," and later he'll find there was a murder or a fire exactly where she told him not to go.

And to be honest, he thinks its super neat, even if he never says it, so its definitely okay.

Like fall she is unpredictable, some days she's sweet as pie as her nestles herself into his side on the couch. But some days, she's angry for reasons she doesn't even know herself and won't come out of her room for anything in the world.

But that's okay, because when I said "anything in the world" I meant anything but him.

Like winter, she is cold. Her words bite like frost and can cut through him like a sword and leave him feeling as if she'd just shot him. She is an ice queen with a brittle, frozen heart surrounded by bones chilled by time.

But that's okay, because if she is the cold, then he is the sun.

And though she hates to admit it, he's slowly causing her icy heart to melt.

Like winter, she is harsh and unforgiving. When faced with once old friends and now new enemies, she does not hold back. Her sheer force rips through them and leaves them cowering behind rickety facades of bravado. When faced with old enemies that are now supposed to be new friends, she does not speak, and he's not sure if she ever will. He doesn't know if its out of spite or fear, and she's not really sure herself.

But that's okay, because he's resilient.

Like winter, she is sparkling. She reminds him of a fairy, twinkling and bright – at least that's the way he sees it. Her eyes hold a certain shimmer that he sees when he's lucky and he wouldn't trade it for the world. He thinks she is graceful and glistening and absolutely wonderful, and he just can't the words to tell her.

But that's okay, because she knows.


End file.
